


Kissing in the Rain

by amandajoyce118



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Actors, F/M, Slow Burn, rom com AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-10
Updated: 2016-04-25
Packaged: 2018-06-01 08:05:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 17,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6509827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amandajoyce118/pseuds/amandajoyce118
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two actors find themselves working together repeatedly since their chemistry on camera is perfection. If only they could figure it out in real life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Jemma Simmons knew from a very young age what she wanted to do in life. Her memorization skills were near perfect. Her drive was above reproach. She could dissect dialogue and analyze emotion faster than anyone she knew. She was born knowing where to find her marks and could identify her best lighting with ease. What she didn’t know about acting when she was a child was that there would be so much kissing. Or how kissing one person in particular would affect her.

-o-

Leopold Fitz didn’t care what he had to do to get to pretend to be someone else everyday of his life. He’d do anything. He’d sell toothpaste in adverts and smile through his hatred of mashed peas and he’d even learn to SCUBA dive. Anything at all. What he didn’t know about playing pretend though was that eventually someone was going to ask you to use those skills to fall in love. Over and over again.

-o-

 

_ Romeo and Juliet _

_ -o- _

_ How did it happen that their lips came together? How does it happen that birds sing, that snow melts, that the rose unfolds, that the dawn whitens behind the stark shapes of trees on the quivering summit of the hill? A kiss, and all was said. _

_ -Victor Hugo _

-o-

She didn’t even particularly like Romeo and Juliet, or Shakespeare for that matter. Studying the tragedies all through school had put her off them. But when up and coming director Antoine Triplett offered you the chance to audition for his stripped down version of the play while you were still a lowly drama student, you took it. 

Of course, that also meant that Jemma, as the lowly drama student, skipped her morning classes to race across town, got caught in a downpour, and had an equally drowned rat of a boy spill his orange juice and breakfast sandwich all over her as they both sprinted for the doors of a train. He mumbled his apologies, eyes on his shoes the whole time, and with a roll of her own eyes, she pushed past him and accepted the fact that Juliet was going to turn up to her audition looking like she’d actually been in the middle of the Capulet and Montague family feud, and had possibly been pushed into Verona’s Adige River instead of poisoned or daggered. 

Trip, as he insisted she call him, didn’t even seem to notice the fact that her blouse was ruined, that there was orange juice on her jeans, or that her eyeliner and mascara had ringed her eyes so that she looked like some sort of feral animal. Instead he put his arm around her shoulders affectionately and introduced her to a few of the people producing the play with him that would be sitting in on her audition. He felt like a friend instead of a potential boss, and Jemma was glad she’d had the fortune of being sat next to him in a stage fighting class before he graduated.

“Shakespeare,” Trip informed Jemma with a wide smile and a sparkle in his eyes, “is all about the chemistry.”

She resisted the urge to roll her own eyes and remind him that she was from England, birthplace of The Bard, and had grown up learning all of his works long before Trip did.

“So, I was planning on having you audition with Romeo, but he’s running late.”

“Oh. I see.”

_ How unprofessional. _

“You want to run through Juliet’s monologue for me instead? Just until he gets here? Because I have a good feeling about you guys, but it doesn’t hurt to show everyone what you can do.”

Jemma gave a sharp nod and Trip left her standing with a well worn copy of the text in the middle of the stage as he ran back to his seat. Glancing down at the page in front of her, the words came back from her secondary school readings of the play, so she closed the book with a snap and began, “Shall I speak ill of him that is my husband?”

Half way through her speech, the back door to the rehearsal space opened to reveal rain sloughing off the roof in sheets. She spotted the same boy who had caused her ruined blouse hurrying through the door and across the floor to whisper something to Trip. He left a trail of water as he did. She didn’t let his presence faze her beyond a narrowing of her eyes in his direction, and she hoped that the people watching her audition would just think she was doing that for effect as she talked about Tybalt. As she watched the boy straighten up and look at the stage at Trip’s nod though, his mouth dropped open and he turned an alarming shade of red, stuffing his hands in his pockets. It was kind of cute - not that she thought  _ he _ was cute.

He must have been another one of the producers? But he looked awfully young for that.

She kept going, putting her curiosity in a box at the back of her mind - her fingers gripping the spine of the book like it was the railing of a balcony, her head tilting just so, her brow furrowing as she thought, her gaze drifting to the boy every so often who watched her with rapt attention - and she was fairly certain when Trip called for her to stop that she had nailed it. She was also fairly certain the smile on his face meant he thought so as well. But she still had to be a convincing part of a pair.

“That was great, Jemma. I’m going to have you read with Romeo now, okay? This is Fitz.”

“Sure.” She licked her lips nervously as the boy, soaked to the skin from getting caught in the downpour again, slowly made his way over to her, giving her a tight smile before looking back down at his shoes.  _ This was Romeo? He couldn’t even look her in the eye, much less make her fall in love with him in front of crowd. He hadn’t even been able to talk to her on a train, how was he going to do it on a stage?  _

Now that she saw him up close, she thought there was a chance he was in the lecture class she’d been taking on the psychology of the theater. He looked vaguely like the boy who sat at the back of the auditorium with his head always trained on his laptop screen. That boy’s hair was always sticking up at odd angles though, and he always looked like he’d just rolled out of bed. She let her eyes drift over his t-shirt and jeans and decided that yes, this was very likely the same boy. Who never participated in class discussions. At all.

She sighed, resigned to the fact that they probably wouldn’t have any chemistry, and she’d skipped class for nothing. At least she’d made a very valuable connection for the future in Antoine Triplett. Everyone said he was going places. He was sure to keep in touch. She hoped.

But when Trip had them start from the first meeting of the characters, Fitz’s eyes snapped up to hers and it was like he was a completely different person as he recited the lines purposefully, even flirtatiously. His posture changed, his hands moved with his words, and his lips crooked in a self satisfied smirk. Her lips curled in amusement and she answered him in kind. It was not the kind of breathless and innocent Romeo who fell in and out of love so quickly that most directors asked for, so she wasn’t going to play the naive Juliet. By the time he was convincing her to kiss him, Jemma was leaning forward eagerly, letting him press his lips to hers firmly, his soaked t-shirt brushing against her arms and giving her goosebumps.

It was, of course, a typical stage kiss, in that there were no open mouths and no sneaking tongues. It was made to look showy and romantic while being anything but. She still found herself a little breathless when he pulled away though and they both turned to face Trip without another word. The butterfly feeling in her stomach, she was sure, was the result of her nerves. She also had the fleeting thought that she was glad her clothing was already damp or the entire front of her would have been soaked through from the way she had pressed into him on instinct. She hoped she hadn’t looked too forward as Juliet. She might have gone a step too far.

She wanted the part desperately.

“Great.” Trip beamed at them and nodded. “Rehearsals start Wednesday at five. Don’t be late.”

She wasn’t.

He  _ was _ in her psychology of the theater class though, as she realized when she walked into the lecture the next week. She caught his eye, and he smiled before quickly looking back down at his computer screen. She had a slight war with her conscience - should she sit with him, try to bond over their new project, or should she take her usual spot at the front? She chose the spot at the front. He still didn’t speak up in class. For once, neither did she, busy going over lines and stage direction at the back of her mind.

But she did spend the next two months of her life in rehearsals with someone who barely spoke to her unless there was a script in his hand. On stage, Fitz was a force to be reckoned with and he made her feel alive even when she was pretending to plunge a dagger into herself. When the stage lights were turned down and the makeup came off though, he went back to stammering, not looking her in the eye, and even avoiding her at every turn.

Much to Jemma’s surprise, they would do several more plays together before stepping onto a film set opposite one another as well.

-o-


	2. Chapter 2

_ Becky and Luke _

_ -o- _

_ Chemistry is so important in a great kiss. You can act your way through anything, but it's hard with a kiss. _

_ -Rachel McAdams _

-o-

Fitz scrolled through the messages on his phone, trying very hard not to watch as hair and makeup gave his co-star a touch up. He didn’t understand why she needed a touch up anyway. They were about to have water sprayed on them from all sides in a perfect imitation of rain. Her makeup was supposed to run, wasn’t it? Besides, she always looked perfect. Even before hair and makeup got hold of her at the start of a shoot. He didn’t know how she managed to look gorgeous at 5 AM call times while he was stumbling around with dark circles under his eyes and blurry vision because his contacts weren’t even in yet.

“Fitz?” One of the production assistants waved a radio in his direction. “We’re ready for you.”

“Yeah. Right.” Standing, he tossed his phone into his chair and walked quickly to his mark, mentally running through where they were in the script as he did. 

A confrontation in the rain had been nowhere in the original pages he was given and it definitely wasn’t in the source material he’d been told to read when his mother found out he’d landed the plum role of Luke Brandon in one of the weirdest romantic comedies he’d ever come across. Apparently, scenes in the rain were all the rage these days since this was the third film he’d done in as many years that required him to stand underneath a water cannon as a woman tearfully told him she loved him.

Two out of three times, it was even the same woman.

Jemma fluffed her hair over her shoulders and straightened up, opening and closing her eyes rapidly to start the tear production. When the director yelled action, they were off and running - Becky apologizing profusely for lying to him about everything while Luke, in his pitch perfect American accent, tried to convince her it didn’t matter, pointing out that she’d even found a way out of her financial troubles as a result of the lies she told. That was when Jemma’s  - Becky’s - lips quirked up in a smile and he took two quick steps forward, placing an arm around her waist as she reached for him, and leaned in for the kiss.

Since they’d first met three years earlier, Leopold Fitz had lost count of how many of his jobs had required him to kiss Jemma Simmons. Some of them had been soft and sweet. Some of them had been passionate, involving one or both of them pushed into walls. Some even had been completed as various articles of clothing were discarded. (Okay, that was just once, but it was very memorable for Fitz. He hadn’t had to film a love scene before or since and the memories of filming the scene still made him nearly break out in hives at how nervous he’d been.) But this time might have ended up being the most times he’d kissed her in one go.

“Cut!” A phone was ringing and could be heard even over the sounds of the misting rain.

Jemma cleared her throat when they broke apart and Fitz looked up at the water cannons while the production team got everything sorted, and then they went again. Her makeup hadn’t even smudged, Fitz noted to himself as she leaned back in and he pressed his lips softly to hers.

There was another  _ cut _ when Jemma slipped in a puddle. And another when Fitz did. And another when he flubbed his lines. And another when a gust of wind had him eating Jemma’s hair.

“Stop!” 

The boom was in the shot and Fitz was beginning to think this was the scene that would never end, which would be fine if he could only figure out how to talk to his co-star in between takes without looking like an idiot.

“Could I get some chapstick?” he asked when the makeup artist came by to touch them both up again.

And on it went.

“Cut!” The water cannons were on overflow. Jemma and Fitz both coughed and sputtered, holding their hands over their eyes as the water was frantically turned off.

“Five minutes and we’ll go again.”

Fitz grabbed a towel from one of the production assistants, handing it over to Jemma, and she nodded her thanks as she dabbed delicately at her face before wrapping it around her shoulders.

It was like this on every single set they’d been on together. He’d thought if they ever crossed paths in the professional world after participating in so many plays in drama school that they would have some sort of bond. They might even become friends. Instead, she was always like  _ this _ . Polite to a fault, but barely giving him the time of day unless they were rehearsing or in the middle of a scene. As a result, he was always quiet, sure that she just wanted to be left alone.

She sighed when another PA informed them it would just be a few more minutes. One of the water lines had apparently ruptured, but they already had someone on it.

Fitz nodded his thanks and shoved his hands in his pockets. The suit he was in was sticking to his skin and he was incredibly uncomfortable. They were filming out in the open and a barricade down the block had a group of fans on the other side snapping pictures of them while they stood waiting. It was only the second time he’d had that experience on a movie set, and it was still surreal to him.

“I think we’ve already got a good audience,” he tried to joke with her.

Jemma looked up at him, alarmed, before glancing at the fans and schooling her features into a polite smile and waving at them. Fitz did the same, though he wasn’t sure why fans watching them film would make her so uncomfortable. It wasn’t like having an audience was anything new to her. She was easily the more popular of the two of them.

“Do you think they’ll like the movie?” She asked, surprising him. He hadn’t really expected her to talk to him. “I haven’t done a comedy in a while. Not as the lead.”

“I think you’re doin’ great,” Fitz enthused. Truthfully, she was always great, and it made his performance even better when he got to work with her. There was something about her when the cameras got rolling that brought out the best in him. It was like they were in perfect sync once the director said action. It was a pity Fitz couldn’t figure out how to get to that point when they weren’t reading lines.

She sighed again and they waited in silence until they were told they were going again - this time, from the top.

Becky gave her confession to Luke and Luke told her none of that mattered as he swooped in for a kiss for the hundredth time. Fitz made this one more careful than the previous kisses. After all, he reasoned, Luke was worried that Becky wasn’t just upset with herself, but with him too, right? And he was tired of one or both of them slipping in the rain. Jemma seemed to respond better to it, her hands splaying across his chest as she returned the kiss before her fingers curled into the fabric of his clothing.

“Cut!”

“What now?” Fitz mumbled against Jemma’s mouth as they pulled away from one another. 

“Dogs barking,” she responded flatly. “Can’t you hear them?”

He really hadn’t even noticed until she said it.

“Oh, yeah.”

“We’ll wait for them to calm down, and we’ll run it again, from the kiss,” the director informed them. “Somebody get me a coffee.”

Fitz grabbed them both towels to dry off, and they stood in the middle of the set, not wanting to lose their marks. Out on a public street, they were using chalk instead of tape, and it had already started to wash away in their fake rain.

“At least it’s warm out,” Fitz tried again for conversation. “We could be filming in winter. We could have wound up stuck to one another. That would certainly make headlines.”

Was that his imagination, or was Jemma smiling into the tea someone from craft services had just brought her? He grinned.

_ Progress. _

-o-


	3. Chapter 3

_ Robin and Marian  _

_ -o- _

_ The sound of a kiss is not so loud as that of a cannon, but its echo lasts a great deal longer. _

_ -Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr. _

-o-

There wasn’t much that impressed Jemma, but after three movies together, Fitz had managed to do it. He had just spent 20 minutes arguing with their director that the arrow he was supposed to be shooting didn’t have to be CGI before walking up to his mark, picking up his bow, and as he stuck his tongue between his teeth and shut one eye to take aim, made a perfect shot in the center of the target.

Jemma smiled from her seat on a hand carved chair on a raised platform where she, along with Will Daniels, who was playing the villain, were supposed to be watching the proceedings. The cameras were set up for a shot of Fitz, so she didn’t even need to react if she didn’t want to, but she couldn’t help it. Especially when Fitz pulled another arrow out and did it again at the director’s question of, “did we get that on film? In case he can’t do it again?”

When Fitz landed three arrows in a row, she couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up, and though John Garrett might have glared at her from the other side of the monitor, one of the cameramen swiveled on his stand to catch her smile and she had to look down at her hands when Fitz glanced up at her in surprise, a beaming smile on his own face.

She was supposed to be acting, she reminded herself.

But really, could she help it if John Garrett had been hard on Fitz since production began and she was sick of it? She might not have thought half of her career would involve her playing opposite the same man when she started out, and sure, Fitz drove her crazy most of the time because he seemed to want to talk about everything but the work involved in a scene, and yes, the fact that fans consistently asked her if they were an item even though she made it clear they weren’t in every interview ever was uncomfortable, but that didn’t mean that someone like Garrett could treat him the way he had. 

Garrett’s last three films had bombed at the box office, and Jemma had only agreed to be in the movie, sans audition, when she found out she’d have the chance to act with the legendary Bobbi Morse on top of working with Fitz yet again. She didn’t have to like every director she worked with. She just had to give a good performance.

“You ready for the big action sequence?” Bobbi asked her out of the corner of her mouth from where she was standing next to her.

“Yes. I just wish we could get on with it.”

“John just wants to make sure all the stunt guys hit their marks,” Will cut in.

Jemma and Bobbi exchanged an eyeroll. 

Will had been quick to defend their director any time someone said anything bad about them, though it wasn’t all that surprising since he’d worked with the man in more than half of the films in his career - he even had a stake in Garrett’s Distant Star production company. If she’d been working with her favorite director, Jemma reasoned, she’d have done the same.

“At least he’s got three camera units going so he can shoot multiple angles,” Bobbi muttered. “My last movie? The director only set up one shot at a time and it took us forever to get the fight scenes done. I swear I must have had to pretend to punch the stunt guy in the face 100 times for a ten second take.”

“All right,” John called as he stood up and the stunt director jogged away from him. “Everyone ready?” As the cast gave various nods and hand waves, he reminded them, “stay off the camera tracking and if you think you miss a step, just keep going until we cut! The rain’s on for this take, so we’ll have to reset with new wardrobe after this one.”

Jemma licked her lips nervously. This was her first action movie where she actually got to use a weapon, and she wasn’t going to be the one to screw it up.

“Action!”

Jemma watched with barely concealed glee as Fitz strung up an arrow and made his shot. She clapped enthusiastically for him when he gave a bow in her direction, and when he moved to claim his prize, Will all but growled the command for his arrest. The stunt sequence went to work then as actors all around the set began to mock swordfight. Fitz, whose bow was promptly removed from him, went on something of a run on a predetermined path, his feet slipping every so often, but he never fell. One camera followed him while one zoomed in on her and Bobbi.

“We should get you to safety,” Bobbi called to her over the din of swordfighting and the water. The shouting would be added in post.

Jemma turned her head just enough to make sure her expression would still be caught on camera and said, “I will be  _ just _ fine,” before making her way carefully down the platform, Bobbi at her heels. The complicated sequence involved the two of them dodging the fight, getting her a sword, and meeting up with Fitz somewhere in the middle of the set all without falling over in the mud, where Jemma executed the eight movements that were needed to stop Robin of Locksley from being impaled by a castle guard.

By some miracle, she managed to do it all without a misstep, and even remember the exact choreography for her limited swordfight.

Huffing and puffing, and with not a small amount of muck on his clothing, Fitz turned to her and proclaimed, “you saved my life.” Taking her free hand, he placed a small kiss to the back of it, and Jemma held the sword out to her side where Bobbi was waiting to take it.

“I couldn’t have my favorite outlaw executed, now, could I?”

“Tuck’ll be jealous that I’m your favorite.”

“I’ll make it up to him with a donation to the church.”

As happened nearly every time she filmed with Fitz, there was a moment when he looked her in the eye where her breath caught in her chest and she forgot it was all an act. She let him pull her closer as she whispered, just loud enough for the mic to pick up, that he had to get out of there before someone did catch him. The clanging in the background let her know that Bobbi had taken up the fight behind them just as she was supposed to.

“I will,” he told her softly, “but I didn’t get my prize.”

Jemma raised her eyebrows as the camera moved even closer.

“Not that  _ you _ are a prize to be won. Obviously, I would never suggest anything of the sort.”

As he spoke, his words picked up speed as if he was going to start babbling, so Jemma did as the script called for and pulled him down to her before kissing him - admittedly harder than she was probably supposed to, but Fitz didn’t seem to mind. As she moved her mouth over his, he snaked one arm around her waist and tugged her in closer than was probably decent for this particular movie, but she found she didn’t much care as the mud sucked at her boots and the camera rolled. Garrett would make them do the scene again anyway.

“And cut!”

Fitz pulled his head back from her quicker than she expected, but he didn’t let her go, and the two of them stood still for a moment, eyes locked, before Jemma cleared her throat and took a tiny step back, her boots disconnecting from the muck with a  _ fwhump _ , allowing her hands to slide over his chest and smooth out his costume. She gave him a tight smile before taking another step back, and he dropped his hand from around her like she’d burned him. She tried not to feel disappointed while her heart pounded at triple time in her chest.

“Just so you guys know,” Bobbi told them patiently as a stunt man came up and grabbed his sword from her, “that kiss is totally going to be all over instagram tomorrow. That teen magazine is on set today, so you might want to prepare yourselves.” She nodded in the direction of a woman Jemma had completely forgotten about who was watching footage on her own camera and animatedly speaking into her phone.

“Right.” Fitz shrugged. “Guess it goes with the territory at this point.”

“Ugh.” Jemma scrunched her nose up. “I’ll have to block another group of fans on social media.” She sighed. “I love that they love us. And our work. But…”

“It’s weird,” Bobbi cut in.

“Yes!” Jemma nodded. “Especially when they tell you they expect to be invited to your real wedding or something like that when it’s two  _ characters _ in love, not us.” She gestured to herself and Fitz, but the movement faltered when Fitz placed his lips on a cup of tea presented to him by someone from craft services. She turned sharply away rather than watch his mouth on the paper, remembering the way it felt on hers. “I’m going to need help with this dress,” she called to wardrobe as she tried not to drag it through the mud.

-o-


	4. Chapter 4

_ Natalia and Longbow _

_ -o- _

_ A kiss is a lovely trick designed by nature to stop speech when words become superfluous. _

_ -Ingrid Bergman _

-o-

Jemma chatted with her publicist while wardrobe put the finishing touches on Fitz’s jacket. He’d never appreciated how weird clothing was in spy films before. In black and purple, he looked like a giant bruise, but then again, that probably wasn’t entirely out of character for the guy he was playing. He was basically the worst spy ever. He carried jazzed up bows and arrows around. Who did that? 

But it did give him the chance to play an action-comedy. And work with Jemma.

Jemma, who looked almost nothing like herself with hair dyed red for the role. A catsuit also happened to be her primary costume in the film, and she would be wearing it in most of their scenes together, including the one they were shooting.

Yep.

He was going to have to film a scene with Jemma Simmons while she was wearing a catsuit and striding across a catwalk, and he wasn’t sure how he was supposed to remember his lines, much less actually play the role. She could make him lose his train of thought when they filmed in jeans and t-shirts. So far, most of his scenes for the film had been separate from her as he followed her trail. He’d seen footage of her work of course, and he was blown away by the complete transformation she’d made for the role, but as soon as the director cut, she was back to politely smiling, warmly thanking the crew for their help, and moving out of frame.

She might have looked like a lethal superspy, but she was still just Jemma-the-actress underneath all the hair and makeup. Of course, Jemma-the-actress could make him just as nervous as the idea of Jemma-the-superspy, so there was that.

“All set, Fitz.” The woman from wardrobe handed him his quiver, which he slung over his shoulder. “Just try not to catch the zipper on anything again. We’ll have to take it out completely and sew in a new one if you do.”

“Too bad we still have a month left to shoot,” Fitz joked, trying to maintain an American accent. It was easier for him to keep it up if he lived in it, he’d found. “If it was the last day, you could just sew me in.” He gave her a wink when she laughed, picked up the bow and made his way to the end of the catwalk, which was really only a few feet off the ground, pillowed by bright green mats. 

A harness was attached to his hips, just like Jemma’s had been. She gave him a thumbs up from the other end of the walkway and he did the same. When the director called action, he “took out” the two stunt guys on his end of the catwalk, feigning a fall that had him quickly right himself over a railing, and then he made his two steps forward to his next mark, pulling an arrow from his quiver as he went. The “click” as he selected a specialty arrow would be added in post, and he knew the effects guys had already taken shots of the mechanism along the top of the quiver to add in additional frames of footage that would make him look even cooler, so he didn’t try to do anything fancy with it. Notching the arrow in place, he raised his arms just as Jemma raised her gun.

He almost dropped the arrow when she said her line in flawless Russian. He had forgotten that they were in a “factory” in “Moscow” for this scene. He really should have been paying more attention to which pages they were filming instead of how good Jemma was at her job.

Recovering himself before anyone could ask what was wrong with him, Fitz angled his head and shouted, “I don’t speak Russian.”

“Sure you don’t,” Jemma replied sarcastically with a smirk. At this point in the film, she knew another spy was tracking her through Eastern Europe. “You’ve been following me.” Her fingers shifted slightly as though she was readying to pull the trigger. “Are you here to kill me?”

Fitz swallowed and narrowed his eyes as one of the cameras on a dolly came in closer to him. He lowered his bow and arrow a few centimeters. “No.” With a sigh, he added, “I was supposed to.”

“Why aren’t you?” She pulled back slightly on her gun, aiming just to his left instead of at his chest.

“I’ve watched you save four different people over the last few weeks. You’re not the bad guy.” He gave what passed for a shrug while holding his weapons. “Or at least, you don’t want to be.”

“You don’t know me.” Jemma softened her expression just enough so that audience would understand that he did.

“You don’t want to be an assassin anymore. You want to do good. What, did they hypnotize you into doing the wetwork? Is it conditioning? If I say the wrong word, you gonna shoot me anyway?” It was his turn to smirk, and he put his arrow back in his quiver, slinging his bow back over his shoulder as footsteps indicated a stunt actor was coming up behind him. Without missing a beat, Jemma aimed just above his shoulder and pulled the trigger.

“You’ll help me... do good?”

Fitz covered his ear with one hand to indicate that he’d felt the shot go by so the effects guys would have something to work from, and he nodded. “I already saved your life once,” Fitz remarked, drawing it out like he was bragging.

“When?” Jemma pressed, lowering the gun to her side while she gestured for him to follow her with her other hand.

“Two days ago. There was a man on the roof of your hotel. He had a rifle. He was going to cross you off when you left the building. I got to him first.” He sauntered across the catwalk with a practiced air, but carefully dodged the droplets of water coming down at random intervals, meant to indicate a leaking roof, and then promptly tripped just before he met her so that she had to use her free hand to pull him to the platform.

“Ah, you mean you ruined a perfectly good car by throwing a man on it.”

“I maintain that he jumped.”

“Was he trying to escape your boyish good looks and this attempt at charm?” Her hand was still on his arm.

“Are you calling me good looking?” He grinned and she holstered her gun with a small smile of her own.

She leaned in close, on the side of his face closest to the camera, and ghosted a kiss over his cheek. “Thank you for saving my life. I saved yours. We’re even.”

“That guy?” Fitz pointed over his shoulder, ignoring the swooping sensation the chastest kiss they’d ever had on screen had left in his stomach. “I could have taken that guy.” When she turned around and began to exit, stepping over the bodies of the men in their path that she had clearly taken care of before he got there, Fitz nodded his head and rubbed his cheek where her lips had left a tingling sensation. “Right.”

The director’s notes hadn’t even called for him to rub his cheek, he realized belatedly. He dropped his hand.

“And cut! Great. Let’s run it back to one. Jemma, when you kiss his cheek, get a little closer to his mouth this time. We have to sell the tension from both sides. And Fitz, slow your walk down across the beam just a little bit more. The trip needs to be more surprising.”

“Right,” they chorused.

“When we get a few more takes in, we’ll break for lunch.”

Jemma grimaced at the director’s announcement.

“Not hungry?” Fitz asked her as his stomach growled in disappointment.

“On the contrary, I’m starving,” Jemma muttered. “I haven’t eaten anything but green vegetables and lean proteins for the last six months to make sure I could fit into this damn catsuit.”

“That’s ridiculous.” Fitz pointed his bow at her before starting to back away. He decided not to tell her that she always looked perfect and starving for a costume was the dumbest thing he’d ever heard. Instead, he said, “Gummy worms. I keep a jar in my trailer. I’ll bring you some on the break.” He ignored her protests until he got to the other end of the walk. “Not taking no for an answer, Jemma! Some sugar’ll do you good.”

Off to the side, her publicist snickered, and Fitz grinned at Jemma’s blush as he found his first mark.

When they broke for lunch, he made sure to show up at her trailer with a full jar of said gummy worms and push the plate of grilled vegetables and fish away from her.

“Fitz!” She protested, trying to reach around the jar.

“Nope. If there’s one thing I know, it’s sugar. You need some.” He unscrewed the lid and tilted the jar in her direction. “Did you know I get a lifetime supply of these? Did a commercial for the company when I was a kid.”

Jemma smiled at him while she looked back and forth from her plate to the jar. With a sigh, she reached in and plucked a dark green worm from the jar, popping the whole thing in her mouth and chewing while he told her the story.

-o-


	5. Chapter 5

_ Henry and Cathy _

_ -o- _

_ A kiss that is never tasted, is forever and ever wasted. _

_ -Billie Holiday _

-o-

After a string of action heavy movies, Jemma had decided to go back to her romantic roots. There was something about a good old fashioned romance. And she’d never admit it, but once she found out Fitz had been cast in the role of Henry, she may have demanded that her manager find out if the studio had already found a Cathy. 

She may have even shown up at the auditions without having been on the list because she had initially passed on the script. And she may have provided director, Maria Hill with a lengthy list of reasons she would be perfect for the part. And then sent the pre-production team those gluten-free, sugar-free, vegan, specialty cupcakes from that new place in L.A. that everyone raved about.

Not that she would ever, in a million years, admit that to Fitz. Because they were professionals. And she would never scheme her way into a role opposite him just because she preferred kissing him to other actors.

But she had. And she did. And she wasn’t entirely sure when that had happened.

Jemma rolled her shoulders in her dress, trying to adjust her posture, but it was no use. The corset they’d pulled tight on her made sure she was already sitting ramrod straight in her seat. What she would give to be able to slouch. And be able to take in a proper breath. She twisted her neck in a semblance of a stretch and hoped her wig stayed on this time. With the torrential downpour they were filming in, the wig bore the brunt of the water weight compared to her dress, and she’d ruined several takes when it was just too heavy for her to deal with anymore.

“All right?” Fitz asked her as he walked up to the portable heater set up for them.

“Yes. Yeah. Fine.” Jemma nodded distractedly and crossed her arms over her chest. She was mostly dry, but Fitz had just sprinted from the craft services tent over to their chairs and was now soaked through. His curls almost looked like ringlets and she was reminded of the teenage boy she’d performed _ Romeo and Juliet _ with who’d flirted shamelessly on stage, but clammed up as soon as the curtain went down. She’d thought that he didn’t like her for so long. 

“Tea?” He held out one hand to her, clutching a paper cup with one of those plastic sip lids on it.

“Oh! Thank you.” 

Uncrossing her arms, Jemma took it from him gratefully and sipped. It was perfect. Of course it was. After years of working together, they knew each other’s preferences about anything and everything. Except for one thing. Jemma wasn’t entirely sure what his  _ type _ was, or if he even had a type. He’d taken women to events before, but always insisted they were just friends to the press. Then again, didn’t everyone? 

He’d taken a pretty brunette, who was bubbly enough to keep the press line interested, to their last movie premiere, and she’d wanted to ask him about her.  What came out instead was, “I’m thinking about doing pilot season this year.”

“Really?” He perched in his chair and raised his eyebrows at her as he took a sip from his tea.

“Yes. We always have to travel so much. I think I want to stay in one place for a while.” She shrugged. “See what happens.”

“You’ll probably get about a dozen pilots wanting you,” Fitz teased her. “You know everyone wants a movie star on the billing they can talk up.”

“I don’t know. Pilots are so competitive. And producers like the new kids who don’t cost as much,” Jemma remarked wryly. Fitz hummed in reply and Jemma thought they were going to go back to their usual silence, so she faced forward again, watching the crew smooth out the grass and the mud and pull tarps tight to make sure certain areas stayed dry. After a few moments, Fitz cleared his throat and she turned just enough to see him out of the corner of her eye, watching her, his eyes dipping every so often to the front of her dress, so she swiveled to face him fully, careful not to lean too far over in the chair.

“There’s one you might like.”

“One what?”

He ran his finger over the lid of his cup and she watched him trace the lettering there.

“A pilot.”

“Right, of course.” Jemma shook her head, wondering what he must be thinking of her. She’d been completely distracted during this shoot and they didn’t even have fans screaming at them from the barricades about wanting to see them have babies. “What’s it about?”

“It follows this group o’ people working for a spy agency tha’ splinter off and start their own.”

“Another spy?” Jemma laughed. “I guess you thought I pulled that off well then?” She asked just as he took another sip of tea, then watched him sputter, turning bright red.

“Wrong pipe,” he explained as he coughed, but his eyes dropping back down to her chest, which the corset had helped to push up and into perfect place, made her think otherwise. He coughed even more. Jemma waited, her grin barely contained as he got ahold of himself. “It’s - erm - not like the one we did.”

“Still, I don’t know if I’d want to play a spy again so soon. If a show like that was picked up, it would be airing when the movie comes out… are you looking at pilots then?” She tried to go for casual, but she wasn’t sure if she achieved it. She was supposed to act for a living, but for some reason, sitting with Fitz and waiting around on set always made her feel like she couldn’t lie to save her life.

He shrugged. “Looked at a couple. Haven’t really decided yet, but I thought it might be fun to get to play the same person for a while, see what happens to them after two hours.” He scratched the back of his neck and Jemma thought he looked - was it nervous? “Maybe we could read a few together? See if there’s anythin’ good?”

His eyes were wide and hopeful and Jemma knew she wouldn’t say no. How many times had one of them asked the other to do something outside of the set? She couldn’t remember. It seemed like one of them always had something else going on and they never saw each other unless they were shooting a movie or doing a press junket or walking a carpet. “Yeah. That would be -”

“We’re ready for you!”

“-nice,” she finished awkwardly as a PA held out an umbrella to them.

Fitz set both of their teas on the arms of his chair and then offered his hand to help her up. Jemma took it, and when he moved to let go, she tugged him under the umbrella with her before removing her fingers and taking the chance to loop her arm through his. 

“The umbrella’s plenty big enough. There’s no sense in poor Callie having to come back again, right Callie?”

“Works for me,” Callie said with a smile. “After this, I take the Moreland kiddos to school, and we all know how much they like that.”

“Ugh. Good luck,” Fitz remarked, leaning in close to Jemma. She was sure it was just to stay out of the rain so they weren’t completely drenched before the cameras started rolling again, but she enjoyed it just the same. “Henry was better behaved.”

“Henry?” Callie asked blankly.

“Not Fitz’s character Henry,” Jemma supplied. “Henry was a monkey on one of our old movies. And he was  _ so _ not better behaved. Fitz just liked playing with him because he couldn’t talk back,” she joked as Callie stopped at their marks, just under the edge of the tarp to prevent the rain from falling on them.

“Tha’ may be true,” Fitz admitted.

Jemma laughed and took her position next to a tree trunk while Fitz moved a respectable foot away. It was only when the director began speaking that Jemma remembered that this was their big finish, and Callie scampered off to take the kids that had been filming that morning to their tutor.

“Take seventeen,” Maria Hill muttered under her breath. “You guys know what to do. Hopefully our tarp holds this time. Action!”

Jemma began to nervously twist her fingers and grip the fabric of her dress as they walked and Fitz began explaining that he and his father were no longer on good terms because of the way she’d been treated.

“He thought I was rich?” Jemma exclaimed in shock, stopping in her tracks, giving Fitz his cue to move forward, place his hand on the small of her back, and get them back on the path.

Jemma had always liked this story - two people who didn’t let the societal need for money stand in their way, they just loved one another too fiercely to care. She found it to be one of the better period romances they had done together. 

The scene continued without interruption to the point where the tarp had snapped previously, and when Fitz looked upward while he was speaking, it only appeared that he was searching for the right thing to say instead of checking their safety from the rain.

“Please,” Jemma prompted him, eager and breathless, her corset cutting sharply against her ribs every time she tried to take a breath, though she was sure the effect made her look every inch a romance novel character on camera, “finish what it was you wanted to say.” She reached out with one hand, but stopped just short of touching him, not sure if she should. For Cathy, touching him might break the spell of the moment, and Jemma felt that same burst of happiness as the fictional character when Fitz finally finished his speech.

“Will you marry me?”

“Yes!” Her answer was something like a sigh, but loud enough to be termed a shout if the sound guys had anything to say about it, but she thought it was perfect. As was Fitz’s fumbling forward then, as if Henry didn’t know if he was allowed to hug her. When his hands reached for both of her arms though, she went up on her toes and made the decision for him, angling her head enough for her nose to brush his before he took the hint and kissed her, pulling her just a little bit closer. Jemma allowed her hands to reach forward then, holding herself steady against his chest as she took one step forward, then another, her lips sliding across his as she did. Sighing into the kiss, she tried to move even closer, but it didn’t work on the uneven wet ground, and she gave a slight stumble, forcing them to disconnect, laughing while he helped her catch her balance.

“Cut. Perfect.”

“Wait, really?” Fitz looked up at the crew in confusion and Jemma was sure his expression was echoed on her own face.

“Cathy and Henry, so happy to be able to get married that they can barely stay upright? Yeah. Perfect.”

“Oh,” Jemma whispered. “Right.” 

Maria moved toward them in her raincoat with what passed for a smile on her face; it was more of a smirk really, and she put an arm around Jemma’s shoulders. It was only then that Jemma realized she was still somewhat holding on to Fitz, and she let go.

“So, that’s a wrap on Jemma Simmons, everybody. Give her a round of applause.”

Jemma blushed while Maria spoke about how great she was to work with, even more so when Fitz amended her next round of applause with a whistle.

“We will all see you at the wrap party on Saturday,” Maria told her cheerfully. “Now return that dress to wardrobe.”

Jemma opened her mouth to talk to Fitz, but he was already pulled aside by one of the camera operators and was listening avidly about a shot they were going to work on with him next. Sighing, she allowed Callie to walk her back to her chair where she grabbed her phone.

“Do you have a pen and a post-it?” She asked before Callie could walk her back to her trailer to change.

“Uhh… yeah. I should. I always have something.” Callie fished around in the pockets of her utility belt before coming up with a pad of purple post-its and a black marker.

_ Fitz _ , Jemma wrote.  _ Don’t forget we’re going to talk pilots. Lunch on Saturday before the wrap party? _ She added her number to the bottom and signed her name, though she was sure he’d know it was her. She was also sure he had her number through the various PR people and agents they’d worked with over the years, but this way, he knew she wasn’t just agreeing to be polite. She bit her lip and stuck the note onto the arm of his chair next to his tea, hoping he’d see it before someone threw it away.

-o-


	6. Chapter 6

_ Marie and Pierre _

_ -o- _

_ As far as I can tell, there are two basic (kissing) rules: 1. Don't bite anything without permission. 2. The human tongue is like wasabi: it's very powerful, and should be used sparingly. _

_ -John Green _

-o-

Fitz recited a list of words in Polish while he stared down at the ground in front of him. When he looked back up, Jemma was biting her lip, trying not to laugh.

“See? I told you. I sound ridiculous.” He leaned forward while the director finished double checking the cameras. “I sound bad enough trying to keep up a French accent when I’m bloody Scottish. Now they want me to do the Polish scene tomorrow with you too?”

“You think you sound bad?” Jemma remarked. “Have you heard me? I have to sound like I was born and raised in Poland, but studied in France, and then I have to speak English on top of that so the film appeals to American audiences. I’m the one that sounds ridiculous.”

“What were you thinking, getting us on this movie?” Fitz joked, just to watch her eyes widen and her mouth drop. He’d come to enjoy her annoyed face on this shoot. He’d had a lot more practice getting to know the many faces of Jemma Simmons so that he could always have the perfect retort ready.

“Me?” Jemma straightened up to her full height and mock glared at him. “Who was it who asked me if I’d seen any good scripts lately to take his mind off waiting to find out about the pilot pick ups? And who was it who said he’d never played a scientist before and  _ wouldn’t that be interesting _ ? I think it was you.”

Fitz grinned when the director told them to get back to their marks. He liked this Jemma. The one who joked around and argued with him between takes instead of standing in silence or politely thanking him for his help. This Jemma seemed like she was about a thousand times more comfortable around him, though he couldn’t figure out what would have made her so uncomfortable around him before. Had he done something in the past? Or did it just take her a few years to warm up to people? Had she been as nervous as he was when they first worked together? There’d been something of a thaw in her on their last few projects that made everything seem easier. She was looser, happier, and the only change he’d noticed was the fact that they were talking to one another more.

“When do you think we’ll hear about pilots?” Jemma asked him carefully.

“Not sure. One you want in particular?”

“I actually really enjoyed filming the spy pilot. More than I thought I would.”

Fitz grinned. “That was definitely fun.” He had very much enjoyed getting to sit on a set meant to look like the office of a dozen spies in the 1940s and watch Jemma do all the stunts. He did get to learn how to use a few new weapons, but his part with them was relatively small. When he’d suggested the part for Jemma, he hadn’t even thought that it was a series he’d audition for. After running lines with her a few times though, he couldn’t resist throwing his hat in the ring just to see what would happen.

“And I got to keep my accent,” Jemma teased. 

He, of course, hadn’t. Nearly half of the films they’d done together already had required him to play American. He had become very convincing.

They moved over to the entrance of the shed on the property leased by the studio for the month. The door was ajar, but not open far enough to see inside. Anyone hoping to get a glimpse of the lab would be disappointed since it was on a soundstage in London.

“And, action!”

“Are they really going to award it to both of us?”

Jemma looked up at him, her eyes wide, her accent carefully controlled when she spoke, and Fitz nodded.

“I told them I wouldn’t hear of accepting it without you. You did most of the work!” He shook his head, trying to convey just the right amount of annoyance. “Just because you’re a woman, they think you can’t possibly contribute to Physics!” He let off a string of curses in French that he hoped he was pronouncing correctly and Jemma’s gaze on him softened even further.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“For what? We’re partners. Partners share credit.”

“Not just for this. For finding me a place to work when I arrived here. For working  _ with _ me. For being willing to move back to Poland if I wished it. Just… everything. I love that me being a woman didn’t stop you. Others weren’t so willing, you know.”

“Yes, I’m terribly progressive. Imagine. A man, falling in love with a woman who gives his mind a run for his money.” He rolled his eyes, shifted closer to her, placed his hands on her shoulders, and opened his mouth to continue, but Jemma, always with perfect timing, cut him off just as the script suggested.

“I love that about you too.”

“Oh? What else do you love?”

She wrinkled her nose and stood on her toes. “That you’re smart enough to help me win a Nobel.” 

She tapped a soft kiss to his cheek while he laughed, but when Jemma started to move back from him, he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her lips instead, one of his hands moving up to brush her cheek. Jemma, half in the middle of a laugh from Marie as well, had parted her lips just as his met hers, and unthinking, Fitz opened them further, his tongue moving against hers. It was when he tasted the cinnamon and sugar from the pastry she’d had that he realized just what he was doing.

Only about ten seconds after he did it did Fitz remember that this was not proper movie etiquette, something he should have known since he’d been working on and off since he was a child! He was about to pull back, to try to salvage the scene, something, anything, but then he realized that no one had yelled cut and that Jemma -  _ Marie _ \- was kissing him back.

“Cue the shout from the kid and you pull apart!”

Jemma took a step back from him, looking around him to something off in the distance with a bemused smile on her face, her cheeks flushed prettily.

“Our daughter’s timing is impeccable,” Fitz quipped.

“Cut. Reset. We’re going to go again.”

Jemma stood very still while the makeup artist came up and provided both of them with touch ups. The mist from the fog, and what was sure to be rain later, made her skin shimmer in the afternoon sun, like something ethereal. Fitz stuck his hands in his pockets and waited through his own touch ups, not saying a word until everyone had walked away from them.

“I’m sorry.”

“For?” Jemma asked him, appearing adorably perplexed, though Fitz was sure it was just an act.

“You’re going to make me say it?” He whispered, hoping the mic packs on them weren’t going to pick up their conversation.

“Fitz, it’s fine.” Smoothing her hands over the surface of her skirt, she smiled at him. “Marie and Pierre were utterly devoted to one another. It’s easy to get caught up in that.” She nodded her head and looked away from him. “But you’ll have to do it again.”

“What?” 

_ Was this actually Jemma Simmons, consummate professional, telling him flat out he was allowed to slip her the tongue? For work? Was he in a different universe? What was happening? And was that a hint of a smirk on her face? Was she enjoying this? _

“You realize when they edit us for different angles, if we do a closed mouth kiss now, it’s going to look completely different. Out of place. They’ll have to throw out that take altogether.”

Fitz furrowed his brow and watched her, still not looking at him, but at the director, as if all she was doing was waiting to see when they would start up again.

“And that was clearly the best take so far,” she added when he didn’t respond.

“Right then.” He pulled his hands out of his pockets as the director told them they were ready. “We’ll keep doing it.” He didn’t let himself wear a pleased smile at this development, though he very much wanted to.

On the next take, it was Jemma who jumped the gun, leading the kiss, even though he was supposed to, but again, no one yelled for them to stop, so Fitz went with it. The next take, he might have made an embarrassing whimper when the director mentioned their cue to break apart, not ready to let her go. And on the next, Jemma let out a groan when he nipped at her lip that shot straight to parts of his body that had no business noticing anything in a work environment. On the last one, he pulled Jemma slightly closer than he was supposed to, but she didn’t seem to care, curling into him easily and practically molding them together. 

“And cut. Someone get Jemma in for new makeup. She’s going to end up with a beard rash if we keep going,” the director remarked casually. 

Fitz scratched at his stubble uncertainly and tried to get his breathing under control.

“I’m just lucky you don’t have the full beard,” Jemma muttered to Fitz, slightly out of breath as well. “And - erm - I guess it’s good we know each other so well that we don’t have to do a million takes.”

“Is it uncomfortable?” He wondered. He’d been clean shaven in most of their other projects together; it hadn’t occurred to him that kissing him would be different for her with Pierre’s facial hair.

“Actually, no. The stubble’s nice.” She seemed to freeze then, as if afraid she’d said something wrong. “I just mean, it’s not… it might irritate the skin after a while, but I don’t really feel it? It’s more like it tickles or something?” She rushed through her explanation, and he was fairly certain the red on her cheeks wasn’t from what passed for a beard on his face.

“We’re going to set up for another angle. Take 15. Get some moisturizer.”

Jemma started to walk away, while Fitz stood there awkwardly, trying to piece together what was going on, and feeling like he was missing something vitally important.

“Fitz?” She called over her shoulder. “You coming? We can talk about your other pilot while they fix me up.”

He figured her face lighting up when he started walking toward her was just because she wanted someone else to talk to, but when she wrapped her fingers around his elbow while they walked, he thought that just maybe it was something else.

-o-


	7. Chapter 7

_ Margaret and Dan _

_ -o- _

_ A kiss is a secret told to the mouth instead of the ear. _

_ -Ingrid Bergman _

-o-

Jemma waited patiently while her lipstick was removed and the makeup artist talked over possible replacement shades with the director. Trip winked at her from his chair when the new makeup artist started listing the different benefits of the shades, so Jemma perched on the edge of the desk to wait for a little while longer, shooting him an eyeroll in response. It wasn’t that she didn’t like her; it was just that they’d already been working on the same scene for hours and they still hadn’t managed to film the bit that was actually the most important part.

“It’s been fun working with Trip again, yeah?” She asked Fitz as he spun in the desk chair. She was asking more to alleviate her own boredom than anything else. She already knew Fitz liked working with Trip. Fitz and Trip had apparently been tossing ideas around for an independent film the last few weeks though, so it wasn’t like it was the only time Fitz would be working with their old friend.

He paused in his spinning to shrug. “Yeah, I guess.”

Furrowing her brow, Jemma watched him adjust the rolled up sleeves of his button down and straighten his tie, all while he avoided meeting her eyes.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

Jemma kicked off her heels and poked his knee with one of her feet. A year earlier, she would probably have been mortified of even thinking it, but now, it was as easy as breathing. She briefly wondered what Trip thought about how different they were on the TV set compared to when he’d directed them in their first play.

“Fitz, tell me.”

He huffed, one hand reaching out to push her foot away, nearly making her lose her balance on the desk when he did, but his hand was at her waist to steady her quicker than lightning. It was another thing that wouldn’t have happened a year ago, and she swallowed hard, mentally willing him to leave his hand right where it was. 

“Sorry,” he muttered. “It’s just… it’s the last day of shooting and we still haven’t heard if we’re getting a pick-up.” 

He leaned closer to her, and Jemma held her breath when he didn’t remove his hand from her waist, instead running one finger over her belt. Given her time-period-accurate-clothing, she couldn’t feel much from the pressure of his hand, but she focused in on it, memorizing the way he moved, gently, carefully, like he was nervous, but couldn’t stop himself, without blocking or a script for reference.

“We’ll get a pick up,” she told him with more confidence than she actually felt. “I mean, everyone loves the show.”

Fitz laughed. “Says the woman who doesn’t read any o’ the reviews.”

“You told me everyone loves it!” Reaching out, she gave him a light shove, and was then disappointed since it meant his hand left her side as he rolled back in the chair. 

“They do, but the network did just get a new president…” He trailed off, looking at something over her shoulder. 

When his features twisted in confusion, Jemma gave into her curiosity and looked over her shoulder as well, finding the makeup artist on her way back to them, the same tube of deep red lipstick (courtesy of a 1935 lipstick brand) she’d started with in her hand.

“I thought we were changing to something less likely to smudge?” Jemma asked just before Raina began a new coat of primer on her lips.

“We were,” Raina said with a roll of her eyes while still managing flawless application of the primer. “But Trip decided we should stick with your signature color since this is the last time the audience sees you two this season. The ending scene is a cliffhanger with the others, but you didn’t hear that from me.”

“Red’s really a good color on you, anyway,” Fitz cut in.

Jemma would have turned to him to see just how he was looking at her when he said that if Raina hadn’t chosen that moment to start applying the lipstick to her. She wanted to know if he was teasing, or if he was being serious, or best of all, if he was blushing when he said it and doing that thing where he looked away and scratched the back of his neck and pretended he hadn’t said anything at all. Because it was that last one that had clued her in. 

After working side by side on a TV series for the better part of five months right after doing a movie together, Jemma was fairly certain that, despite being an incredibly talented actor, Fitz wasn’t exactly good at hiding how he felt. What she thought had been him being annoyed with her, or just trying to get along with her, or even just being nice years ago, she had discovered in the last few months, was actually him paying more attention to her than anyone else. 

He didn’t pull anyone else’s chair out at cast table reads. And he didn’t pay attention to how anyone else liked their tea. And he didn’t compliment anyone else’s wardrobe or makeup. And he didn’t even flirt with any of the extras like the other actors did. And he had even asked her if she wanted to go with him to their movie premiere that weekend - he said it would save time and energy if they walked the carpet together, but he had also been rapidly turning pink when he said it, and she couldn’t help but hope it was something like  _ a date _ . She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been excited for something like that.

Jemma Simmons was 97% sure that Leopold Fitz had more than professional, or even more than friendly, feelings for her. It was that pesky remaining 3% though that had her worried. Because there were still times where it seemed like she was reading too much into things, that Fitz was just Fitz - prickly on occasion, but more polite than most people in the business, and just looking for a friend.

“You should be more worried about whether or not red is  _ your _ color,” Raina teased Fitz as she applied a spritz of setting spray to Jemma’s mouth. “Give ‘em another minute,” she called to Trip while she walked away. “Otherwise Fitz is going to be tasting the spray.”

“You did say you would eat anything,” Jemma murmured to him, recalling the melted candies he’d fished out of his pocket the day before, but when his eyebrows shot up and his mouth dropped in shock, she realized what she sounded like and shook her head. “That’s not - I didn’t mean  _ that _ .” Hurriedly putting her shoes back on and hopping down from the desk, she let out a frustrated breath. “I’m just going to get to my mark then.”

Fitz nodded, not saying a word in his chair, but when she went through the doorway to stand on the other side of the set for his office, she heard him laugh, making her grin as well. If he thought it was funny, that was a good sign, wasn’t it? Shaking the nerves from her arms, she took a deep breath in and let it out slowly, trying to get herself back into the headspace of a woman who was on the verge of founding an organization for super spies - a woman who was also desperately in love with her coworker.

_ Focus, Jemma. _

“Everybody set?” Trip yelled. 

Jemma nodded without looking at him, picking up the folder from the shelf next to her, and she assumed Fitz had given the okay as well because soon Trip was calling action and Jemma was striding back into the room with the kind of swagger she only had as Margaret.

“That’s the last of it?” Fitz asked, leaning on a crutch and hobbling back over to his seat. Jemma was still amazed that the American accent came so easily to him. She was also still happy she didn’t have to change her own voice for the role, even though there had been a few scenes where she went undercover as an American socialite.

“The very last.” She dropped it onto his desk with a tight smile.

“You know, we could have done this over the phone. You didn’t have to stay.”

Jemma fought the urge to smile at him. She knew it was in character for Margaret to be both amused and hiding her feelings, but the way Fitz as Dan was looking at her was making staying in character very difficult. She often wondered if there was a little bit of Fitz in Dan’s expressions, but she still wasn’t sure she knew him well enough to tell. “This was just… more efficient. I still have plenty of time before my flight.”

“Right.”

Fitz was the picture of indecision and distraction while he skimmed the paper in front of him and closed the folder. “Everything looks perfect… as usual.”

“Then… I guess… we’re done here.” Jemma nodded her head while she spoke and looked around the set - at the photos and baseball memorabilia on the shelf, the fake window where they’d be adding in a rainstorm in post, the stack of folders that held pretend files with real character names on them in case a fan freeze-framed a shot - anywhere but at Fitz. “It was nice working with you again. We were always such a great team.”

“Yeah.” Fitz leaned back in his chair, feigning nonchalance Jemma was certain, and added, “if I get anymore strange cases out here, you’ll be my first call.”

Jemma gave a wistful smile and told him goodbye before turning back to the doorway, making her steps slow since she knew there was another line coming, but Fitz certainly took his sweet time before saying it.

“But you know, you never did apologize.”

Jemma spun on her heel so quickly, she was surprised it didn’t break. She made a mental note to slow down on the next take so wardrobe didn’t hate her on her last day because she ruined the most expensive shoes in her character’s wardrobe.

“Apologize? For what?”

“For that terrible call you made.” Fitz smirked at her, sticking his pen over his ear, which for some reason, infuriated her, and it wasn’t just because it wasn’t something he’d done on any other take. He’d tried gentle smiles, staring at a point just above her head, even glancing down quickly after making the statement, tossing the pen on the desk. This time, he looked cocky. She wasn’t entirely sure how to play against that. She decided to do the same.

“I did no such thing.”

“Really?”

“Really. If you’ll recall, we saved everyone.”

“But you put everyone at risk first.” Fitz leaned back further in his chair as she walked forward, but he stood when she came to the edge of the desk again. “To save me. Or was everything you said about making hard calls just talk? I seem to remember you telling me to let them kill you just two weeks ago.”

“That was different!”

“Why?” That infuriating smirk was still on his face, and Jemma wasn’t entirely sure if it was her character who was annoyed by it or her at this point. Dan was supposed to have some idea of Margaret’s feelings for him at this point in the season, but really, he was practically goading her into an admission. “You don’t have an explanation, do you?”

Her character did have one, as it turned out, and one that the audience had likely been waiting for all season. Jemma launched herself at Fitz, kissing him hard, causing him to stumble back slightly and reach out for the chair. He responded enthusiastically, pulling her lower lip into his mouth when he kissed her back, and she couldn’t be sure if it was her or her character that was responding to him again because he was simply far too good at this aspect of the job.

She was a little amazed that the writers had gone an entire season of episodes without having these two characters kiss one another. In her opinion, it was about damn time. 

He let out a puff of breath against her mouth when she pulled back, but he didn’t say his line, and Jemma couldn’t tell if he didn’t remember it, or if she’d done something wrong.

“Sorry,” he winced. “My leg’s caught under the chair.” Jemma jumped back immediately to help him fix it before she laughed at the red lipstick all over his mouth. “What?”

“Raina was right. You should have thought about whether red was  _ your _ color.” She almost reached out to remove some of the lipstick with her finger, but Raina was there with wipes and ready to do touch ups about 10 seconds later, so there was no need.

“I told Trip this lipstick wouldn’t work for a kissing scene.” She shook her head and gave a long suffering sigh. “Your director is a gorgeous man, but he does not know his lipstick.”

Jemma met Fitz’s gaze and tried not to laugh when he rolled his eyes.

Just a few minutes later, they were ready to go again, and this time, when Jemma went for Fitz, she took note of where his feet and the legs of the chair were and made sure to collide with him to give him just enough momentum to stumble back, but not end up with one foot under the chair since he was supposed to be putting most of his weight on one leg anyway. She was hyper aware of where his hands were and how his lips moved against hers, and she didn’t want to stop kissing him, pressing forward to prolong the kiss and increase pressure every time he shifted to break them apart, even breaking the cardinal no-tongue rule at one point, though it wasn’t like they hadn’t broken it before. She was fairly certain she’d made the kiss last longer than it was supposed to, but she didn’t care. When he finally pulled back with a dazed expression on his face, he said his line hoarsely, but Jemma barely registered it, leaning forward to kiss him again as they toppled into the chair - at least the script had called for that.

The chair, unfortunately, might have been one of the pieces of the set straight out of the 1940s and couldn’t exactly handle their combined weight. They had tested its sturdiness ahead of time, of course, but the props department hadn’t quite used as much gusto as Jemma when she propelled them into it. Fitz and Jemma both yelped when it shifted, and she may have bit his lip in the process, but all she knew was that suddenly the chair (and Fitz) was on its back on the floor, and she was sprawled on top of them.

“Are you okay?” She asked worriedly, hands running over his chest and shoulders as she shifted, trying to remove herself, and only succeeding in straddling him.

“Fine,” Fitz groaned as he tried to move too. 

A rounded chair back meant every time one of them moved, the chair just rocked from side to side though. Jemma was inclined to agree with the chair’s reluctance to let them go.

“Somebody get props in here! I think we need to reinforce this chair!” Trip bellowed. “Or Jemma needs a tranquilizer.”

“Hey! This was not my fault,” she yelled somewhere in Trip’s direction. She couldn’t see him over the desk she and Fitz were currently behind, though a few crew members had rounded it to help them. She was too worried about Fitz to consider that they both might have been a little over enthusiastic in the scene. 

“Just - stop - wiggling,” Fitz commanded suddenly as he laughed, gripping her by the waist and shifting her to one side so that she was on the floor and he could extricate himself from the chair.

“Sorry,” she told him once they were both on their feet and the prop team was fixing the chair.

He shrugged. “Think it’ll make the out takes?” he deadpanned as she laughed. She was fairly certain it would, though she wasn’t sure what the fans of the show would think of it when they saw just how long she’d made that kiss last. If her social media notifications were any indication, they wouldn’t be surprised.

-o-


	8. Chapter 8

_ Leopold and Jemma _

_ -o- _

_ A man's kiss is his signature. _

_ -Mae West _

-o-

“Watch your step there, Jemma. We don’t want you ruining those shoes,” Anne told her as they prepared to walk the sodden carpet rolled out ahead of them. There were dozens of actors that had already walked the carpet before them, staff members holding umbrellas over them and people lifting the trains of their gowns, as they did. 

Nevermind that these women wearing gowns in California in the spring as temperatures had surged to record highs seemed crazy to Fitz in the first place. Jemma, at least, had the sense to wear a lightweight sundress with geometric cut-outs along the back that the fashion blogs would probably have something to say about in the morning. It was black with swirls of red and purple on it, a nod to their characters in the film they’d made over a year ago.

“I’ll be careful,” Jemma answered with a roll of her eyes as Fitz offered her his arm.

“It’s jus’ good the rain finally stopped,” he cut in to hold off an argument. He still wasn’t sure why Anne was Jemma’s publicist if the two never seemed to see eye to eye about anything. Jemma claimed Anne was one of the few people who was willing to tell her clients the truth instead of just spin everything, and he supposed he could respect that.

“I’m sorry.” Anne sighed. “I know you will. They just -”

“Are on loan and cost a fortune and I get to wear them to advertise, not to keep,” Jemma finished for her, placing her hand in the crook of Fitz’s elbow. “Don’t worry. If I ruin them, it’s not like I can’t afford them. I’ll sign the bottoms and auction them off for charity or something.”

“That is actually a brilliant idea,” Anne admitted. “Why aren’t you your own publicist?”

The two women laughed and Fitz shook his head. The heat was still stifling despite the earlier rainstorms, and they hadn’t even started walking in front of the flashbulbs of cameras and under spotlights yet. He swiped at his forehead with the back of one hand, thinking they wouldn’t notice.

Jemma paused and surveyed him critically. “Take off the blazer, Fitz.”

“What?”

She removed her hand from his arm and started tugging at his clothing as photographers spotted them and began snapping away. He was sure he was imagining the smirk she gave him as she brushed the blazer from his shoulders and handed it off to Anne. Maybe it was a result of their final scene for the show still being fresh in his mind from two days earlier. But when she reached up and loosened his tie before pulling it from around his neck and passing it over as well, then rolled up the sleeves of his shirt and ran her fingers down his arms, he was sure he wasn’t imagining the way her breathing sped up and the way she eyed him appreciatively.

“Much better. Now I won’t have to worry about you fainting on me.”

“Yeah, it would be a shame if you had to carry me inside.”

She pinched his arm before linking their fingers together and pulling him along after her to the first spot on the carpet where they paused for photos and all he could think was,  _ Jemma Simmons is holding your hand without a script telling her to and there will be photographic evidence _ . 

“You’re not that heavy. I think I could do it,” she whispered. And even though he knew it was in an effort to make him smile since all his red carpet photos featured him scowling, he laughed anyway.

They got through the line of photographers without incident. Anne, somewhere in the background with his tie stuffed into the pocket of his blazer and the whole thing draped over her arm, spent nearly their whole walk with her gaze on her cell phone. He saw her nod in approval out of the corner of his eye when Jemma stopped holding his hand to better lean into him, wrapping one arm around his waist in a hug after she hopped lightly over a puddle as flashes from cameras went off.

“You,” he teased in her ear while she stayed close, “are much more coordinated than you used to be.”

“It’s all the stunt work your movies have been making me do,” she teased in return while they paused before the last set of photographers.

“My movies? You were there too. I think you mean  _ our _ movies.”

She didn’t look away from him to smile for the camera though as he draped an arm over her shoulders, and Fitz couldn’t help but think how wildly different this was compared to the very first red carpet he had ever walked with her, when a studio had asked them to appear together to promote a film. He had spent much of it awkwardly with his hands in his pockets, trying to keep a respectable distance between them while Jemma gave her blinding smile and exchanged greetings with anyone who walked up to her. He had wanted to be anywhere else other than in front of a bunch of people he didn’t know. On this carpet, it was like she only saw him, and it made all the yelling photographers seem like they were a million miles away. On impulse, he leaned down and kissed her hairline before they moved to the press line portion of the carpet. He’d probably pay for that impulse from the celebrity news blogs later, but he didn’t care because she was still smiling at him.

Just before they reached their first set of reporters though, Bobbi was suddenly in front of them as if she’d appeared out of thin air. In reality, Fitz considered, she was probably just finishing up one of her own interviews. She wasn’t in the movie with them, but since they had all been in another project together less than a year earlier, it was no surprise she’d been invited.

“Well, well, well,” she remarked, “if it isn’t the world’s newest spy-powered couple.” She laughed. “I’m still jealous that you got this part. I was up for it too you know.”

“What?” Jemma stayed under Fitz’s draped arm even as she leaned closer to hear Bobbi over the din. “Really? And I got it? How does that happen? You’re perfect for it!”

“You mean Fitz didn’t tell you?” She winked at him and Fitz scratched the back of his neck with his free hand, shaking his head when Jemma and Bobbi both waited for him to explain. “I had a chemistry read with Fitz. When I was supposed to kiss him, he sneezed on me.”

Jemma started chuckling, and even though it was at his expense, Fitz found he didn’t mind all that much. “I think I was allergic to her perfume. But we couldn’t get through the sides without me sneezin’.” He shrugged. “Sorry, Bob.”

“Eh, you win some, you lose some. I’m just excited to see Jemma speaking Russian.”

“You should be,” Jemma agreed. “That was harder than the stunts.”

“I’ll see you guys inside.”

Before either of them could say anything else, the reporter in front of them asked, “is that true? Bobbi Morse was up for the part?”

“She was,” Fitz said with a nod of his head, reminding himself that nothing was private on a red carpet.

Nearly a dozen microphones and cameras later, the two of them reached the end of the line, and Jemma was constantly shifting her weight from foot to foot.

“I take it the heels are uncomfortable,” he whispered in her ear, watching her shiver when his lips inadvertently grazed her earlobe. 

“You have no idea.”

“You should take them off. You did practically undress me in front of the reporters already.” He shrugged, pretending the idea of Jemma undressing him in private wasn’t currently running through his head.

“Removing your jacket is hardly undressing you,” Jemma countered, but she made him pause before they got close to the camera crew and a man holding a bright red microphone so she could toe off her shoes. “I’m sure I could do better,” she murmured, low enough that no one but Fitz heard her. When she started to bend to pick them up, Fitz stopped her with a hand on the small of her back.

“Not a good idea in your dress,” he explained when she raised her eyebrows at him, not sure how to respond to her comment when the were in the middle of a premiere. She’d been throwing him off balance a lot lately, and he still wasn’t sure how to process some of the things she said. He knelt and picked up the shoes, keeping them in his free hand instead of passing them off to Anne in the background. Jemma’s sundress was perfect for the weather, but resting at mid thigh, it wasn’t something she should be bending down in while there were cameras everywhere. 

“Knight in shining armor, right here,” she joked to the reporter as they walked up.

“Hard on your feet?” The man asked sympathetically.

“Oh, no,” she deadpanned. “Shoes that expensive could never be uncomfortable.”

Fitz missed the feeling of her against his side while they spoke with the man in front of them, and apparently he wasn’t the only one because as the interview went on, she stepped closer and closer to him. She kept leaning her head toward the reporter, so it was entirely possible she just couldn’t hear him very well, but the fact that she hooked one finger in the belt loop of Fitz’s slacks when she laughed at one of his jokes made him think otherwise. 

There’d been held hands, arms around waists and shoulders, and she’d even got him to make a few ridiculous poses, but her finger hooked through that loop was something else all together. It spoke to familiarity and intimacy and it made him more nervous than any reporter ever could. He licked his lips and tried to focus on the questions at hand, but Jemma was carrying the interview while he was busy noticing the point of her fingernail when it caught on his shirt or the brush of her knuckle when she shifted her stance. He wanted to think it meant something, just like he thought it meant something when she agreed to come to the premiere.

The sweat was back on his brow, and it wasn’t just the heat.

“So, could you give us a preview of what to expect here, Leopold?”

Fitz, distracted from his train of thought, blanched at the use of his given name, still not used to reporters using it. He really should have changed it to Leo when he was starting out like everyone had suggested, but his mother wouldn’t hear of it.

“Oh,  _ Fitz _ gets to break out his bow and arrow skills again for this one, don’t you?”

He smiled gratefully at Jemma when she placed emphasis on his last name and agreed. “Yeah, I do. It’s a little more high tech than Robin Hood though,” he explained, trying not to look in the lens of the camera that was trained on them while he talked about the fun of using the crossbow.

“Still the hero though, right?” The reporter pressed on.

“I don’t know about that. I think she saves me more than I save her.” Fitz glanced over, his free hand now on the small of Jemma’s back again, his fingers running over the edge of the lowest cut-out on her dress, just brushing her skin.

“I think we save each other,” Jemma added. “They’re both capable of handling themselves in a bar fight… or worse.” Her eyes were back on the reporter, but her hand was pressed in hard to his side. 

“Any romance?”

“In the movie?” Jemma asked, keeping a perfectly straight face, and Fitz almost did a double take at her question, but managed to hold himself together. “I guess you’ll have to watch and find out, won’t you?”

“Have you guys ever done a project where your characters didn’t end up together in the end?” The reporter asked them as Anne walked up and tapped them both on the shoulder.

“Maybe it just hasn’t been released yet,” Jemma answered for both of them before tugging Fitz away.

He breathed a sigh of relief when they entered the actual building and were led toward the screening room. 

“That wasn’t nearly as bad as it usually is,” Jemma remarked off hand as they made their way along a hallway behind a security guard, Anne still trailing behind them. “Maybe we should do all of our red carpets together…”

Fitz opened his mouth to respond, but there were people walking up and shaking their hands and making smalltalk in the midst of them trying to get to their seats, and it just didn’t happen. He ended up spending most of the premiere with one hand on the armrest between them trying to find a reason to hold Jemma’s hand again, while his other hand covered his eyes every time he was on screen.

Jemma reached over at one point and yanked his hand down from his face. 

“I know you hate watching yourself on screen,” she whispered, “but you really are excellent in this.” She leaned closer to him, her hand still holding his across his thigh, her breath on his cheek. “I heard if it does well, they’ll want us for sequels.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Would you want to - do another one?”

“Any time, Fitz.” She gave his hand a gentle squeeze and let it go, but she stayed leaning into his personal space, at one point allowing her cheek to rest on his shoulder, for the remainder of the film. He didn’t look away from the screen again.

-o-


	9. Chapter 9

_ Jemma and Fitz _

_ -o- _

_ If it’s the last kiss, we’d better make it last. I hope you don’t have anywhere to be, because I have the rest of my life free. _

_ -Jarod Kintz _

-o-

Jemma thanked the driver profusely for making the out-of-the-way stop when he had been instructed to take her home, all the while balancing her shoes and a tray of drinks in one hand while she grasped a paper bag of food and her clutch in the other. He wanted to schedule a pick up time for her, but she patiently told him she’d call him if she needed one, and then began the walk up to the front of the building just as the skies opened up for the second time that day and began to let loose with a heavy downpour.

She sighed and walked as quickly as she could without spilling anything, huddling in the hallway for a moment before steeling her nerves and making her way to the stairs.

When she reached the door in question, her makeup felt heavy on her face, her hair was ruined, not to mention the expensive shoes in her hand, and she barely had a hold on the paper bag that contained what she had hoped would be dinner. And she couldn’t quite bring herself to knock. Instead, she took a few deep breaths, more nervous than she’d ever been for any audition.

If she’d only known that the person in the apartment had spent the better part of the last hour pacing his living room floor and wondering why he hadn’t gone out with the rest of the cast after the movie premiere, or why he hadn’t asked her to dinner instead, she might not have been quite so nervous.

Just as Jemma awkwardly raised one arm and the paper of the bag began to fall apart, pieces of it sticking to her hand in wet streaks, the door in front of her opened to show Fitz, keys in hand.

“Jemma?”

“Fitz!”

She tried to get a better hold on the items she had in her hands, but as the tray slipped, Fitz deftly grabbed it and her shoes from her as he kicked the door open wider and moved out of the way so she could come inside. Fitz definitely had faster reflexes compared to the first time she’d worked with him.

“I’m not… intruding, am I?” She asked, knowing full well that Fitz was doing absolutely nothing. He always went home and immersed himself in old Grant Ward movies after a premiere, something she’d learned two years ago from a costar. Grant Ward was the kind of actor Fitz dreamed of being, and he generally hated his own premieres so much that he’d go home and take notes on how he could be better.

But this time, he didn’t have his television on or his computer up, so she couldn’t be sure that he didn’t have plans. And he had opened the door before she’d even been able to knock...

“No, nope, not at all.”

Jemma grinned when he shoved several magazines and stacks of scripts to one side of his table to set everything down, gesturing for her to set down her bag as well. She frantically tried to wipe her hair from her eyes and make herself look slightly more presentable when he turned and closed his front door, but she gave up the effort when she remembered that the way she looked was basically the same she’d looked on nearly every movie they’d ever shot together. He was used to seeing her after having been in the middle of fake rain - what was a little real rain?

“So…” She began before clearing her throat and reminding herself that she had no reason to be nervous for about the thirtieth time since they went their separate ways at the after party to respond to questions from studio executives and pose for pictures with other cast. This was Fitz. And he hadn’t exactly been subtle about the way he looked at her or the way he interacted with her. She was almost certain that he felt the same way she did. He had to. Otherwise, she was horrible at understanding people that weren’t written on the page.

“So?” Fitz prompted with his own smile. “Is this dinner?”

“It was supposed to be.” Jemma picked at the paper from the bag on her hands ruefully before Fitz rushed away, returning with a towel from the depths of his apartment. “Thank you.” She wiped at her hands, then her arms, then dabbed at her face gently. “I wasn’t expecting more rain. Probably should have though.” She hesitated before bending slightly and swiping at her exposed legs. “I just thought that since you left so quickly, you might be hungry?” She said the words to his floor instead of his face, and when he didn’t respond, she added, “and I thought we should talk.”

“Talk?”

She straightened, draping the towel over her arms, and then watched him carefully. “You know, the first time we worked together, I thought you hated me.”

“What?”

She noted his shocked face as he shook his head, liking the way his eyes widened and his mouth dropped. “Now, I think maybe you were just nervous. It was your first big play too. And our first movie together… I was so focused on not screwing up that I didn’t really take the time to appreciate how well we worked together.”

“Jemma…”

But she held up one hand, telling him to stop. “I have a confession.” Tucking some of her damp hair that kept sliding forward behind one ear, she went on, “Do you know how many movies we’ve done together now?”

“Eight.” He didn’t hesitate, and she should have known that he would know immediately.

“Do you know how many of them I auditioned for only after knowing you were involved in them?” She chewed on her lip when his mouth dropped. “Four,” she whispered. 

“But you never -”

“I tried to pretend that it was just because we worked so well together and we knew each other’s habits so it made the job easy.” She dropped the towel next to the food on the table and took a step forward. “But that’s not true.”

“It’s not?” Fitz’s brow furrowed adorably in confusion.

“Of course, it  _ is _ easier to work with you, but that’s not why I kept  _ wanting _ to work with you.” She took another step forward. “We never saw each other outside of work. And I wasn’t sure you wanted to. See me, that is. I’d been so… distant… a lot of the times that we worked together, I was sure you probably thought I was up myself, and I didn’t want you to think that.” Her words started to rush together because Fitz kept opening and closing his mouth as if he had more to say. “It’s just that after the first couple of films together, fans started telling me at signings how they couldn’t wait for us to get together in real life, and it was there, in my head, all the time. I didn’t know what I was actually feeling - if it was because of what they were saying, or just because we had to pretend to love each other on camera so much, or if it was me. And then you did that movie with that singer, Skye, and I hated it.” She shook her head ruefully. “Our job is playing pretend, and watching you pretend to go backpacking through Europe with another woman just rattled me, and that was stupid. It shouldn’t have.  _ It’s part of the job _ . And it’s not as though I don’t love watching your movies normally.”

“You didn’t know wha’ you were feelin’?” Fitz echoed, the ghost of a smile starting to creep into his expression, but Jemma pushed forward.

“Stop interrupting!” Jemma took another step forward and rolled her eyes when Fitz took on an affronted expression. “I just - want to get this out.” She waited for him to nod before she kept going. “I love working with you. You make everything so easy, really. But I started thinking about  _ why _ everything has been so easy with you. We’ve never not been characters in love with one another, and as good as we both are at our jobs, I think that even if you were playing the villain, the audience would think I was in love with you because I just -” She shrugged helplessly. This wasn’t exactly going the way she had planned. She couldn’t get the words to work for her, which seemed especially strange for someone who frequently changed her own lines in scripts. Fitz stared at her with his bright blue eyes and his patient expression, and she didn’t know what else to say to him to get her point across other than, “I don’t want to act with you anymore.”

“Wait, what? Jemma, tha’ seems-”

Jemma gave up all pretense of using her words though, and closed the distance between them to grab him by the shoulders and pull his face down to hers, cutting off his words as smoothly as she ever had on camera. 

She’d never appreciated how much shorter than him she really was since she always had something of a heel on a movie set, but barefoot in his apartment was nothing like a movie set. She tilted her head up and kissed him gently, not wanting to catch him too off guard. She didn’t want him comparing this one real kiss to all the times they’d done it for a camera. The thought crept into her mind that maybe he wouldn’t think a real kiss from her was as good as any of the thousands of takes they’d done across so many different projects, and she pulled back from him abruptly, ready to try and explain again, but his arms went around her as soon as she tried to move and she found herself being kissed all over again.

It was both the same as it had been all the times before and different from any kiss she’d ever had. 

She was hyper aware of where his fingers rested on her back and of every time a muscle shifted in his arms to pull her closer. Her heart still beat rapidly as if fueled by the adrenaline of getting it just right. It was familiar and perfect and brand new all at once.

But her mind wasn’t focused on hitting her marks or making sure a camera got certain angles. She didn’t care if she pulled him too close or kissed him too hard now that he was responding. She didn’t have to worry about a microphone picking up on the groan that came from the back of her throat. And there was no Hollywood etiquette involved. 

She didn’t have to think at all. She could just feel.

Which meant that there was no one yelling cut or telling them to stop. And she and Fitz took advantage of that fact for as long as they could go without breathing.

When they separated, Jemma didn’t take a step back or drop her hands from him like she would have if she was pretending to be someone else. Instead, she gulped in air and tried to catch her breath, form a thought, get a read on his reaction, anything.

“So, erm,” Fitz began, his face flushed and his eyes dropping to her lips repeatedly before shooting back up to meet her gaze, “you don’t want to act with me anymore? Because, you’ve always been my favorite co-star. And I don’t want -”

“I meant off camera,” Jemma cut in quickly, shaking her head, amazed that was the point Fitz chose to go back to. “I just meant that I didn’t want to pretend that I wasn’t feeling… the way I feel. I didn’t mean… unless this makes things strange for you?” Now that she had oxygen flowing back to her brain, she was suddenly concerned that she’d made a grave mistake and that Fitz kissing her had been instinct, not interest, and that she had misjudged everything she’d been thinking about for months.

“Strange? No!” 

Fitz shook his head so fast that Jemma had to drop her hand from where it had been resting against his cheek. She let it fall uncertainly to her side, but Fitz kept his hands on her waist, so she didn’t step back. Instead, she took another breath in and started to speak again.

“I know we haven’t really been friends for very long, Fitz, but that’s my fau-”

“It’s not your fault.” He cut her off quickly. “And yeah, I know, interrupting. Sorry. But, it’s not. Really.”

His hands shifted, fingertips skimming her sides, and Jemma closed her eyes to focus on the way it felt, like every place he made contact with was electrified, even through the fabric of her dress.

“I want more than that,” she admitted before opening her eyes again, finally getting the words out the way she wanted to, even if it should have been fairly obvious by that point.

“Yeah?”

She smiled at the way he lit up, the daze of the kiss having lifted. There was a hint of disbelief in his features, but she couldn’t remember a time when he’d ever looked happier. “Yes.”

“Good.” He nodded. “Me too.”

“Good.” She stared at him for longer than was strictly necessary, drinking in the sight of the freshly-and-thoroughly-kissed look he maintained, but eventually, she thought it was important to add, “I had hoped we could have dinner, but I think the rain spoiled it.” She gestured needlessly to the sopping mess of the paper bag on his table.

“Not hungry.”

“Really?” A laugh bubbled up from Jemma’s chest. “You’re always hungry. You keep candy in your costume pockets half the time! And you count the minutes until we get a dinner break on set.” She watched him shrug as his face became somewhat shy again. “Well, if you aren’t hungry, what do you think we should do? I’m not going back out in that rain,” she told him mischievously, closing what little distance there had been between them.

“Have I told you how much I love the rain?”

-o-

**Author's Note:**

> You all have StarryDreamer01 to think for this one as she both beta'd for me and gave me the idea for this story when she introduced me to a series of Youtube videos by the same name. It's already written. There are nine chapters total and I'll post every other day since most of them are so short.


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